The Adventures of Soap Boy

Part 13 Soap Boy

Who was this boy to challenge Aguante like this!? At least, that was what Aguante wanted to think, but Soap Boy's words had shown true. He really was having a hard time keeping up with his enemy.

Another series of attacks were thrown out, and yet more misses. Aguante hadn't touched his foe since the bold challenge was issued. Far more annoying was the fact that he kept coming so close. Every punch, every kick, felt like it was just a hair away from striking true. Soap Boy was taunting him. Fighting by moving as little as possible. Not a movement wasted. Not even the smallest fraction of a movement wasted, for that matter.

What happened to the boy who was just barely managing in a battle against true power? Where did the frightened child who had barely saved his men gone? It was like he was fighting a different person.

Then there was the most annoying thing of all. Soap Boy hadn't hit Aguante once in the last three minutes. He hadn't blocked, parried, struck, or bound. He gave Aguante nothing with which to fuel the thrill of battle. Of course, the thrill wouldn't recede until the fight was over, so Aguante didn't need to worry about shrinking or reopening wounds, but the thrill wouldn't advance without pain. That meant Aguante was, for the first time in months, getting tired during a fight.

It was all so annoying. So very annoying. It made Aguante mad.

"So Annoying!" Aguante yelled out, voicing his frustrations.

"Is It?" Soap Boy responded. "I thought you wanted a hard fight, but now you complain when you get one?"

He was right, and that annoyed Aguante further. All Aguante wanted was a foe who could push him, and that was exactly what he was getting. But it all felt so wrong!

The true warrior was supposed to be hard to beat, but the fight was also meant to be satisfying! Where was the satisfying crunch of fist meeting face, or the guttural grunts of pain? Where was the oddly pleasant sting after getting thrown to the ground, or the satisfaction of reversing an enemy's hold? All of it was missing. All this fight had become was one man swinging and the other dodging. It was more of a dance than a glorious battle.

Though, maybe the battle could be glorious. It would be spoken about for years to come. Sung in songs all around. A mighty man and a swift child, in a seeming everlasting deadlock. The idea appealed to Aguante on some level.

Fueled by both the thrill of battle, and a newfound passion, Aguante struck out yet again.

---

Aguante was fading quickly. The plan was working. As the fight went on, my image of Soap Boy became more and more refined. At first, he was just bold, but I was starting to discover more about him as time went on. He was a braggart, but could back up his boasts. He was foolhardy, but not a fool. The type of hero who would poke the bull and spend the afternoon continuing to taunt it, as I had just done.

Soap Boy was also a far better fighter than I was. Sure, I was fit and had been training, but Soap Boy was a master. Somehow, upon adopting the Soap Boy persona, all of the combat drills I had been running clicked into place. It was as though I had spent an extra several months training.

Was this what people meant when they said "morale to physical is three to one?" My attitude had become one of utter confidence, and with each failed attempt, Aguante's confidence was breaking down. Because of that, his swings were becoming more wild, and as such, more predictable.

Just as I thought that, Aguante tried, for the ninth time, to trip me up by changing the direction of his kick mid swing. I didn't feel like dodging again, so I lifted my man catcher and caught his ankle instead. I pushed up, but stopped before he actually started to fall over. He stumbled back and growled at me like a hound. Obviously, he wanted me to trip him so that he could gain strength and recover his stamina, but I wasn't going to allow that.